


A Family Affair

by quodthey



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 16:33:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18253658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodthey/pseuds/quodthey
Summary: In which Elizabeth Bennet has been away at a mysterious school, and Netherfield Park is let at last — to two rather peculiar men.





	A Family Affair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tigertrapper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigertrapper/gifts).



> For my very dear Laurence, who encourages all my bizarre ideas. Thanks to Flute for reassuring me that what I write at 3am is in fact mostly coherent. love u both xoxo
> 
> I know the timelines for this do not match up at all, but it is so wildly AU that it doesn't bother me in the slightest.

“Oh, Lizzy dear,” Mrs Bennet said, waving a hand at her dear daughter. “I know you’ve been away at that school of yours for so long but even you must surely know that a man in possession of such a large fortune _must_ be in want of a wife. What on earth they have been teaching you, I shall never know.” 

Lizzy, who had indeed been away at a school of sorts, but definitely not the sort of school of which Mrs Bennet was thinking, surely did not know this and did not see how one could possibly relate to the other. But perhaps this was another one of those supposedly vital things that she had missed out on during her education and had by now spent so long without that she could not understand it, like what sort of ribbon was best to use with which style of bonnet, and the most fashionable ways in which a young unmarried lady should wear her hair in order to attract the attentions of soldiers. This was, according to her younger sisters, a most devastating failure of the education to which she had unfortunately been subjected. 

“Of course, mama,” she said, smiling. She found that her smiles in this home were not absolute fake smiles, because many of her sisters had become accustomed to rooting out such deceptions in their quests for a husband and it would not do to alienate family so soon, but yet they could not quite be true smiles, for Lizzy could not in fact recall the last time she had cause for one. 

Her shoulders ached. The powder on her face itched. Mr Pryce had been so startled to see her like this: face unmarred, her dress delicate and pale green. But even if one is to be extraordinary, one must still be able to blend in. His birthday gift to her was a comforting weight at her thigh. 

“And this gentleman who shall most assuredly want one of my sisters as a bride — is he in possession of a name, to match his wealth?” she asked, smile still in place. 

“He is indeed,” said her father, eyes not raising from his book. “A young man by the name of Mr William Pratt is to be our new neighbour. He and a friend of his have taken up residence before their young women join them from the ton.” He paused. “Odd men, I should say. When I called upon them, not a single curtain was pulled!” 

Mrs Bennet gasped. “Oh, my dear Mr Bennet,” she cried. “I have heard it said that Mr Pratt may even have five thousand a year! Such a gentleman — they are entitled to their little eccentricities, it is not for us to judge!” 

Mr Bennet hummed. “I should find it difficult to respect the oddities of a man who appears to sleep until midday, and keeps all his curtains drawn.”

“How very peculiar,” Elizabeth said mildly. 

Mr Bennet closed his book and sat it aside. “Well,” said he. “Odd as I may believe them, and odd as they may be, they have still invited us to a ball.”

There came a chorus of quickly stifled shrieks and gasps from beyond the closed door of the room, just as Mrs Bennet clutched at her chest and near swooned with delight. The prospect of a grand ball, at an estate as grand as Netherfield — and with all of her daughters in the house, and surely eager to attend. 

“Oh, you do tease me!” she said, hands fanning her face. “Oh, my nerves, Mr Bennet, you know they cannot take such shocks as these!”

The door, which had been groaning under the weight of several excited teenage girls, suddenly swung open, and the symphony of Girls In Want Of A Husband started up, not for the first time since Elizabeth had returned home. 

Lydia nearly fell head over heels as she rushed in, flinging herself onto the couch between Lizzy and her mother. “A _ball_!” she enthused. “I shall need a new dress, mama, and a bonnet! Oh, such fine ribbons I shall wear,” she said, dreamily, visions of lace and silk dancing before her eyes. 

Elizabeth blinked. “Did we not spent several hours just yesterday on bonnets?” she asked, unable to entirely hide her bafflement.

The notion was evidently entirely repulsive to Lydia and Kitty, who scoffed, and looked upon her as if she were deranged. “What fool notions they are putting into your head at that school, Lizzy,” Lydia said, with such pity that in Elizabeth’s expert opinion it was a shock that she did not choke on it. 

Their mother was in agreement. “Quite right, Lydia,” she said, looking to be as equally dazed as her daughter, but likely more enchanted with the notion of any daughter of hers being noticed by a man with five thousand a year, even if he were a layabout who slept until midday. 

Elizabeth refused to think further about the fashions and hair-pulling and face-painting to which she would be subjected, continuing the topic only to ask: “We shall all be attending, then?” and in a very carefully neutral tone, “Father, do you perhaps recall the name of our new neighbour’s friend? I should hate to be forgetful and ill-prepared for a meeting!” 

To which the answer was: Of _course_ you shall be attending, and the vague reply of “An Irishman by the name of Mr Angelus O’Connor, I believe,” and, well — all of a sudden her visit home was not as dull as she thought it would be. 

 

It was Elizabeth’s considered opinion that being forced to keep up with current fashions and designs was a form of torture that Mr Pryce should be kept as far away from as possible, in case the topic should ever become a plausible punishment for not excelling in all aspects of her studies. Only by habitual force of will did she not grunt in pain as her sisters, who she was beginning to believe were quite demented, wrangled her hair, which had grown quite unruly and had almost developed a mind of its own, into something that they felt could be presented in Society. 

It was also Elizabeth’s considered opinion that Society and the society which she kept were so far removed from one another that she may in fact have better success at summoning a demon than even beginning to reconcile the two. 

“What do you _do_ with this?” Kitty asked, entranced and horrified. 

“Do you do _anything_ with it?” Lydia hissed. 

“Oh, Lizzy,” Jane sighed. 

Elizabeth contemplated her activities. 

“In truth,” she said evenly. “Studying the sciences does not generally require one to be Fit for Society at any given moment.”

A sharp tug at her hair almost had her hands come up, instinct rising where rational thought fails, until she forced her hands down, and held them tightly. 

“How our parents could even send you away to study like that,” Lydia declaimed. “How can you live so far apart from red coats!” A terrible thought occurred to her, and she asked, voice hushed, “When did you last attend a party?” 

Elizabeth paused. “How exactly would you define a party?” 

This answer, it seemed, was suitably horrifying to all in attendance. 

“Surely you can dance!” Kitty cried. 

“Of course I can,” Elizabeth said, aiming for reassurance and falling instead into defensive. 

“Nobody is saying you cannot,” Jane said, calmly. “However, it may perhaps be best if you were to — stay by us.” 

Elizabeth bit back her automatic indignant retort. She breathed out her annoyance. “I am perfectly capable of behaving in public,” she said, with a slight smile. “But if my dear sisters would rather watch over me than fill up their own dance cards —” 

Lydia, working furiously at a braid, cut her off. “Lah! I for one shall not disappoint my soldiers by having to sit over my sister like she is some mad thing!” she said. “I shall be perfectly content to dance the night away as you sit, Lizzy.”

A swell of affection rose up in Elizabeth for this girl whom she knew from but scant letters received over the years. Elizabeth would gladly live a life entirely devoid of dancing and ribbons if it meant that at least one sister would leave her to her business. 

“Quite so, Lydia,” she said, approving. “I am not an invalid to be minded.” 

Jane frowned a little. “If you’re sure,” she said. “But —”

“I am sure, Jane!” Lizzy laughed. 

“There,” Kitty said, and Lydia patted Elizabeth’s shoulder, preening in the mirror as she admired her work. “That’s the hair sorted.” 

Several small boxes and tubs appeared in their hands, and delight upon their faces, as they leaned in for one more round of ritualistic torture. 

“Don’t frown so, Lizzy,” Jane said. She watched Lizzy carefully in the mirror. “You’ll enjoy it.” 

 

Compared to the home she shared with Mr Pryce, and with Longbourn, Netherfield seemed almost impossibly huge. The grounds were vast, and in the night the manor seemed to stretch and tower intimidatingly, rather than stand as beautifully and perfectly placed in the estate as it did during her morning walks. Crowds swept past her, resplendent in beautiful gowns and exquisite suits, far more majestic than any she had seen before. It seemed to Elizabeth as though a hundred conversations were happening at once. Every sense was enchanted by the spectacle: the sound and smell of the country in the summer night, the perfumed ladies with their fine rustling fabrics, the music spilling out of the hall and swelling into the night. Mr Pryce’s cherished books and their occasional visit into the nearby villages could never have prepared her for this. The little road outside their house could never compare with this endless row of horses and carriages. 

The night time, in Elizabeth’s experience, was still and calm, until it was frantic and messy. It was quiet, and solitary. This — was not the night she had ever known. 

She breathed as deep as she could in the restrictive gown and let the smile form as she heard a now familiar voice call to her. 

“Lizzy, my dear, surely you remember our very dear friends, Sir William and Lady Lucas, and their daughters?” her mother asked, pressing her forward to greet the couple. 

“I certainly recall many an afternoon spent with Charlotte Lucas when we were children,” she said, and found that the memory of the life that was did not sting as it once did, and she smiled at Charlotte. “Though I dare say that frog-catching would no longer be our activity of choice.” 

“Of course Lizzy has been away for so long,” Mrs Bennet said, as though Lizzy had not spoken at all. “At school in ——shire, as you know; very prestigious scholarship, we were so blessed to find she had been chosen for it!”

Lucky was not precisely the word Elizabeth would have chosen, but she and her mother had very different experiences of the eclectic education Lizzy had received. 

Still, she smiled and did not indicate in the slightest that there was anything unusual in her boot. 

When they did eventually move into the warmth of the manor, she steeled herself and did not allow her jaw to drop at the sheer amount of wealth on display, and allowed her family to pull her here and there to reintroduce her to childhood acquaintances she had long since forgotten and by whom she had also been forgotten. She laughed at the gossip, and the memories she no longer had, and the ways in which they were all so very different. One ear, she kept trained on this circus of people long since trained to perform for the public; the other, for sounds she had long since searched for as second nature. 

And then, from across the room, a man. Tall and lively, a smile across his face and a laugh in his throat, and a face that was so very pale and familiar. She had been trained from Mr Pryce’s most cherished, most dearly collected books, after all. 

“Ah,” said Sir William. “I see you have spotted one of our hosts!” 

“Oh?” she asked, quietly and appropriately curious. “And which host would he be, may I ask?” 

“The taller gentleman,” he said, leaning in, conspiratorial where it was not in the least bit necessary. “Would be Mr Angelus O’Connor, of Galway, I believe — I have never had occasion to see him in society before; I do not believe he has been presented at the Ton,” Sir William continued. “I myself have been presented at St James’, a marvellous place, the Ton! Such elegance, such refined manners — we shall see how his Irish manners compare,” he said carelessly, and quickly spotted a new friend of his across the hall, with whom he simply had to speak. 

Elizabeth continued to breathe. It was important in times like this, to remain as still and calm as possible, but a thrill ran through her all the same. The hair on the back of her neck stood up; she could feel eyes on her. 

Having been presented to a variety of people like a curious performing animal, Elizabeth had quickly found a partner for the first set, and was soon engaged in excruciating conversation with one of the red coats her sister so admired. But his hands were warm and his feet nimble, so she bore it with as much good grace as she could muster. 

It was just before the beginning of the third set of the evening, for which she was free, when trouble knocked upon her door and introduced itself as Mr William Pratt, the current master of the manor. He was fine-boned and dressed elegantly, and Elizabeth was not surprised to find that, when their hands touched, he was cool and still. Her smile did not falter, and his eyes did not leave her, and she made perfectly civil conversation about books and theatre until the music came to a still and they left one another to the tender mercies of the crowd. 

Mrs Bennet was, she found, in a tizzy. “Lizzy,” she gasped. “Oh, Lizzy, I do believe Mr Pratt has taken a liking to you!”

“I would think him a rather poor host if he did not dance with his guests,” she suggested, deciding that she would never ponder the alternative, which was frankly too horrifying to allow it any sort of presence in her thoughts. 

“He still cannot take his eyes off you,” her mother said, uncaring of who could hear. “Oh, there’ll be a match soon enough, I know it!” and then she was off, gossiping with whichever Bennet sister she could get a hold of, in hysterical raptures over how her dearest Lizzy had been stolen away at so young and tender an age but remained so charming and sweet that even after she had ruined herself with education and books, gentlemen would still want her hand. 

Elizabeth allowed herself a moment to recover, before going off in search of Charlotte Lucas, who had seemed sweet if not more than a little nervous when they first were reintroduced. She was halfway across the room to her new old friend when she realised that she could no longer feel the gaze of a predator on her. She was greeting Charlotte and enquiring after her when she realised that beyond that, she could not spy either host in the great room. 

 

The splendor of the manor was not restricted to just the ballroom, as she soon discovered. Paintings and statues were in abundance, and it appeared that she was not the only guest to enjoy the rich plush chairs and the silk and velvet that drowned the manor. Guests, either uninterested in the dancing or more interested in what interesting material they could find to gossip about for the next six months, loitered in the halls, dipping in and out of rooms that Elizabeth was almost certain were not for the perusal of the public. That is not to say, however, that if she found a library she would not take a moment to be tempted. But just a moment. 

She did, after all, have business to attend to. 

Her charming hosts, who had provided for every sort of entertainment one could wish for at a ball that was simply an excuse for people to be nosy neighbours, had quite thoughtfully provided for her, as well. A foot, dressed in a rich leather shoe, lolled out from what would have been rather a cosy nook, if it had not been used to lazily conceal the body of Sir William Lucas. 

Elizabeth couldn’t help but to wrinkle her nose at the sight of the slick blood, and ravaged throat. No care had been taken. She had seen cleaner meals left behind by those recently risen and desperately hungry. 

She ducked into the nook, and pulled up the hem of her fine skirt. 

“Apologies, Sir William,” she whispered to the body, as she pulled a long, narrow piece of wood from her tall boot. She dropped into a crouch, and positioning the stake over the heart in one hand, carefully inspected the man’s mouth for blood with the other. At the sight of clean teeth, she sighed, and pulled the man’s body further in, tucking him into a corner. “I will see that you are found,” she said to the cool corpse quietly, before standing and continuing further down the hall.

She rolled her shoulders; she felt more settled in her skin now, having found her place in this odd little world of her family, where even in the peaceful countryside there exist people and monsters, and problems for her to deal with. The manor no longer seemed the magical place it had been. Her hunting grounds had asserted itself, and the further she stalked into the maze of halls and doors, and the further she got from the music and the perfume and the lovely dresses, the more she knew the place. The familiarity of the still night. The creeping darkness. The rustling, not of dresses and neck-ties, but of prey. 

The whimpers and groans of ‘meals’. 

There was a door ajar, and the pale light of moon was seeping through the study. His dark head pressed against her pale throat, his shirtsleeves a bright clean white. One hand pressed against her back; the other, wrapped in her hair, pulled to bare her neck for his feast. 

He had been wearing a velvet coat earlier, when they had noticed each other, but it was thrown to the ground now, deep blue stained darker. She vaguely recalled the woman as having danced with him. The second set. She had admired the flowers in her hair. They have been pulled from her hair now, ripped out just as the ties of her bodies and the skin of her throat. 

There was nothing to be done for her, she realised. She had been dead from the first. This knowledge did not help, for if Elizabeth could not save one woman who simply wished to dance and weave flowers in her hair, then what was the use in her? 

Angelus pressed the woman further against the desk as he took his last deep drink from her, yellow eyes fixed on Elizabeth at the door. She did not even begin to attempt to hide her revulsion at such an act. She fell where he left her, sprawled across the desk, head tipped back. Her eyes were blank and unseeing, but Elizabeth felt the accusation and could not defend herself. 

He could not lick his mouth entirely clean, so he wiped his hand across his face and licked it instead. He smiled at her, red stained fangs pulling his mouth back. “Waste not, want not,” he said, tongue rasping over fingers. She gagged a little, and he laughed, face shifting back into his human facade. 

“What a weak stomach you have,” he said. “Especially for a Slayer.” 

“Disgust for monsters is not a weakness,” she said. Her hand was tight around the stake, and she was glad she had whittled it so smoothly, for she did not want to be bothered by splinters now.  
“Ah,” he said, leaning one hip against the desk. “I don’t know if I’d say _disgust_ , girl.” He seemed content to stay where he was, so she, quickly taking in the room and seeing that he would have no real advantage, moved closer. He smiled at her still, a charming smile for a demon. “I did see your sweet little dance with young William, after all.” 

“That which is necessary is not always enjoyable,” she said. “Killing vampires, however, tends to be both necessary and highly enjoyable, in my experience.” 

His charming smile twisted, and she could see the demon he was even in that human guise. “Well,” he said mocking sadness. “Lizzy, my sweet, I’m afraid you won’t be enjoying that pleasure again any time soon.”

She shifted her stance, readying herself to launch at him. “If I were you,” she said, “I would not be so certain of that.” 

But he shifted himself further onto the desk, lounging back to watch her as though he had all the time in the world and not a care. “I don’t know,” he said carelessly. “I think your new beau would have a thing or two to say about you having a go at his family, hm?”

And the door closed, and Elizabeth realised what that feeling was inside her — the feeling of having forgotten something important, like she had left a fire burning, or caught up in the fury and horror of seeing a monster eat a young woman right in front of her, had forgotten about his friend, and had forgotten information from those books she had found so important.

In front of her: Angelus. Behind her: William the Bloody. She shifted, stake still in hand.

Angelus’ face rippled, and the demon once again appeared, grinning. And as he laughed, she lunged.


End file.
